


Of War

by trimorning



Series: Markus Manfred [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angry Connor, Angry North, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Crying, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Markus Deserves Happiness, Markus Is A Manfred, Markus-centric, Markus-whump, Memorials, Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Protective Connor, RK1000 - Freeform, aftermath of war, mention of corpses, nothing graphic tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trimorning/pseuds/trimorning
Summary: All Markus can say for a moment is, “Oh.”Then,“The first thing I remember disliking was my name actually.” And it’s in the way he said it, voice delicate and wistful, climbing its way from the most defenseless part of him-- the one shaking and curled up around an empty wheelchair whispering ‘dad dad dad’-- and pouring itself out of his mouth that has Josh covering his face with his hands, Simon’s fingers digging into North’s sides, and North burying her face into Simon’s chest trying to smother the scream that's crawling its way up her throat.Connor doesn't move.





	Of War

It’s only been a week or so since Markus, Simon, Josh, and North sang on national television, beaten down and clinging onto hope and each other with blood stained fingers. The human population of Detroit is still majorly gone, while only the most adamant human supporters remained. It was unclear whether or not Detroit would become a literal ‘Android City,’ the president had yet to declare anything, and no one felt comfortable just _waiting_.

 

The first time humans put Markus on the cover of a magazine its bold and brutal and _bad_. It’s Hank’s first day on leave and he had them all come over because they were good kids and good to Connor. North, having been busy, comes into the house a little after five and before anyone could even get a word in she lifts up a magazine, fast as the crack of a whip and snarls, “Did you fucking see this shit.” Only Hank flinches and Connor blinks rapidly, the only two not yet used to how bright North burns. She’s a vision of unfiltered fury, and when she throws the magazine down to the table the impact sounds through the room like a thunderclap.

Its _Century Magazine_ and it has Markus standing shoulders squared, arms up and horizontal, feet bare and planted apart. He is adorned in an opened black leather overcoat and jeans, chest exposed and across his arms hangs a banner. Its Thirium Blue with the depiction of a snarling dog on it, the words ‘Phobos’ ~~‘Harmonia’~~ ‘Deimos’ haloing the beast, blood stained. This Markus glares from a floor of _corpses_ as a crown rests upon his head.

‘MARKUS’ its headlined.

  
It’s obscene.

 

Josh looks away first, face frozen in horrified awe as he stares at his hands, “Oh my god.” Simon’s face gives nothing away as he tries to calm North down, his mind already thinking thinking _thinking_. North is struggling to cap her swelling anger, pressing into Simon and shaking, “Its- it's fucking bullshit!” Rumbles out of her and its aggressive and all consuming and it rips Hank’s eyes from the cover to Connor. Because though Hank hasn’t known North long, isn’t used to her yet, he recognizes her brand of anger.

The storm like quality to it, the way she whips and winds up, unstoppable. A tempest of quick retorts and retaliation raining like hail, moving _always moving_ , capable of destroying _anything_ Hank _knows_. He recognizes it in her because he knows it in himself. Hank eyes find Connor because he has worked his ass off to know that boy. He knows that the storm in Connor is on the other side of the same coin for him, for North. Their anger squares up into your face, its velocious with claws and persistent, wild. Connor’s is a quiet hiss of wind, cracking glass, seeping into the fabric of your skin, freezing down to the bone, vulturine.

And Hank has experienced this, has seen it unearth itself from Connor on his behalf. Knows that that kind of fury is only in reserve for his family. Because even if Connor hasn’t realized it yet, he loves Markus, and that makes him family. It took one look at that disgusting magazine cover for frost to start trickling out of every line of his body. His eyes are intense on Markus, soft brown steeled into black, and it looks like a promise. North is frothing mad tears springing into her eyes, she’s cursing, conceiving deadly of threats and Connor is silent. His ire a siberian beast shaking itself awake to lie at Markus’ feet, waiting.

 

All Markus can say for a moment is, “Oh.” Dual colored eyes glazed over as he processes what he’s seeing then,

“The first thing I think I can remember disliking was my name actually.” And it’s in the way he said it, voice delicate and wistful, climbing its way from the most defenseless part of him-- the one shaking and curled up around an empty wheelchair whispering ‘ _dad dad dad_ **_please_** ’-- and pouring itself out of his mouth that has Josh covering his face with his hands, Simon’s fingers digging into North’s sides, and North burying her face into Simon’s chest trying to smother the scream that's crawling its way up her throat. 

  
It brings Hank’s eyes to Markus and his heart breaks a little at how small and lost he looks, his family too scared to touch him, too raw and angry to safely hold him.  
  
  
It brings the beast to its feet.

Connor moves, grabbing the magazine from the table, and makes his way to the kitchen. He fills a pot with water, puts it on the stove, drops the magazine inside, covers the pot and turns the stove on. The surgical way he moves, without a single sound makes the extreme reaction seem less ridiculous. He strides over to Markus, jagged and cold edges softening and warming with every step till he’s right in front of him.  
  
Markus’ posture is hunched small like he wants to _disappear_ and his eyes are wrecked, shimmering with unshed tears. So when Connor cups his face, murmuring, “Its not going to be a very good soup,” like it isn’t a silly thing to say Markus just about collapses into him, choking on some amalgamation of a sob and a laugh, tears pouring down his face. Connor is holding him, stroking his cheeks and looking at him like he’d pull burning stars from the sky with his bare hands for him if asked.

The relief that cuts through the room as Markus just lets go, leaves a sweet taste in Hanks mouth, and watching Connor pull Markus deeper into the space where he is always safe-- in his heart, in the bracket of his arms-- the grip of dread that fastened to his lungs loosens into nothing.

 

* * *

 

The word ‘restoration’ had been lingering in the undertones of the city for _days_ , but after _Century_ decided to get artistic North, eyes gleaming and determined, grabbed it with both hands and guided it into _reality_ . She gathered up any and all androids capable of heavy lifting and cleared up Hart Plaza, burning the wood, getting rid of the tires and garbage. Daylight had her unyielding, a force of nature where progress was concerned.  
  
It was only when the moon shined that she’d let herself decompress, that they _as a family_ can decompress, “They had us-caged in that circle like-like we contracted rabies instead of fucking self-respect, I hated seeing that.” She whispers in the dead of night-- coiled up in Josh’s lap, Simon’s hand stroking her hair and Markus eyes closed and head on her feet-- surrounded by her family, knowing she didn’t have to explain because they _understood_ , but needing to say it outloud. Needed to pull it up and out of her throat, expel it from her body.

Simon decided then the city needed to be _clean_ . He had any who volunteered help free the streets of the blood, blue and red making a swirling purple, that was shed because North was right. The humans had his people cornered with guns to their heads and felt _validated_ when they defended themselves. The blood on the streets was more than just a sign of loss on both sides. It was evidence of a fractured Detroit and though Simon never wanted that, that is what he got and he’ll make it work for Jericho. For the future of Detroit.

The idea of restoring the shattered remains of morale in the decimated city was something that North and Simon ultimately realized that Josh and Markus were better suited for. That’s how their machine of progress works, how their family works really. Simon and North build bottom to top while Josh and Markus build top to bottom, they meet in the middle always. So when North cleared up Hart Plaza and the idea of a memorial bubbled to life in Josh’s awareness he went for it. Where their barricade circle used to be, now stood a large marble shield upon a platform of stone, a black plaque with the engraving, ‘Harmonia Praesidio.’ It gleams during the day and casts a massive shadow that androids seem to be drawn to. It's _comforting_.

 

Markus decides to convert Carl’s mansion into a memorial. He has the whole place emptied out, collects each and every Thririum Pump Regulator from all those who died during the revolution, every abused android, every runaway, every victim. He attaches each on to a string and they hang in every room of the house. He wants to keep their hearts safe, and this is the safest place he’s _ever_ known.  
  
The outside world wants to paint him up as a god of war and that’s fine. 

 

He thinks of Josh.

Of Simon.

Of North.

Of Hank.

Of Connor.  
Of _Carl, of love_ and he _knows_ who he is.  
  
Markus Manfred.

* * *

  
~~PHOBOS~~ HARMONIA ~~DEIMOS~~

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of nowhere, I have been writing it all day and I still have no clue where it came from. But I hope any who read this, likes it. Leave a comment if you want to tell me what you think!


End file.
